Día de Muertos
by sailorgreywolf
Summary: This is a requested oneshot. America leaves his Mexican boyfriend alone on a very special holiday. Luckily for Mexico, Colombia is more than willing to substitute for the wayward blonde. (crappy summary is crappy) Pairings: Mexico/Colombia


_A/N: This is a request for Teffy Uzumaki , who asked for a Mexico/Colombia oneshot on a holiday special, so I chose to do the Day of the Dead since I am more familiar with Mexican culture. _

* * *

The day had been incredibly lively, as was expected on the day of dead, as ironic as that was, but it was nothing compared to the night. The people could be pretty cleanly divided into two camps, the first being people who set up shrines in the graveyards and laid down paths of marigolds. These were the people who had really lost a loved one recently and were mourning and hoping for the spirit to make one last visit on the only night when it was possible. The other easily discernible group was the one that enjoyed the holiday simply as a time to get dressed up and consume more tequila than usual. Mexico as the physical representation of the country felt torn somewhere between the two, so he accordingly divided the holiday between two different places.

First, he made an obligatory visit to the place that held the most ghosts for him. It was a crypt beneath Mexico City that held the remains of past presidents. Those markers were easy to pass, at least most of them. Mexico always had to resist the urge to spit on Santa Anna's or Diaz's, other than that, the sentiment that each carried was rather small. As he walked farther back, Mexico approached the graves that meant the most to him. Each belonged to one of the revolution's leaders. He stopped between Allende's and Hidalgo's and tried to look at the names and not remember seeing the heads displayed by the Spanish. This was when the guilt usually kicked in. If the spirits really could come back, then these two had always neglected to visit Mexico and give him a chance to apologize for his reckless youthful folly. This part of the night was obligatory; Mexico would always have his own ghosts to mourn. They had perhaps been dead much longer than any that mortals mourned on this day, but for Mexico the memories always seemed fresh.

After the sadness and regret was finished, he was able to move on to the enjoyable part of the night. He, like all the young men who were the same physical age as him, painted his face as a black and white skeleton. Naturally Mexico added a few embellishments to the original design. Having more than a century to perfect his face paint certainly had its perks. Mexico admired himself in the mirror after he finished. The black and white gave his face an oddly haunting quality. The gold in his eyes seemed to shimmer as the only color in a monochromatic landscape. His thick hair appeared even blacker than it normally was. Most strikingly, the way Mexico painted himself made it so that his bone structure was even more pronounced. Mexico enjoyed the fact that he could always have this night of the year to look at least a little bit different than usual.

Next, he changed the rest of the way into the attire he had worn the past few years on this night. He had been wearing a white collared shirt and a pair of slacks to visit the crypt. He now stripped out of the pants and changed into a different pair that was much tighter. He also quickly pulled on a jacket. The whole outfit was based on a mariachi's attire, but it was different in that it was themed for the Day of the Dead. The jacket and the pants were both black with extensive white detail work. Both were embellished with a series of small bones, which were actually plastic, but could be convincingly passed off as small chicken bones. The back of the jacket was decorated with a large embroidered skull that was white thread, except the middle of the eyes which were gold. Mexico had had the outfit custom made a couple of years ago and naturally it still fit. He refused to be worst dressed than anyone at his own holiday. He was the country, therefor; he should be decked out in the most flattering costume imaginable.

He walked over to a jewelry box and pulled out a pair of golden earrings. Mexico's ears had been pierced since he was a child and he took every possible chance to take advantage of it. The earrings he chose tonight were rather simple; each was a gold stud with a small plain medallion, which was also gold. They were not as heavy as some of the earrings he owned and most certainly not as lavish as the ones he had grown up wearing when he was still an Aztec prince. He turned back to the mirror and noticed, as he did every year, that these pants made his ass look amazing, mostly because they were so tight in all the important parts. Overall, he looked completely gorgeous, which was exactly what he wanted. With that, he was able to leave quite assured that he looked amazing.

* * *

The parties were exactly what Mexico had expected; the young and the beautiful spent the night drinking and dancing, which always ended with them leaving in pairs. Mexico partook in some of the drinking, but kept mostly to himself. Sleeping with mortals had lost its appeal a long time ago. They were so short-sighted and so shallow; it just wasn't worth it having to deal with the stupid banter. He went from party to party, simply enjoying the lively atmosphere. He could be having a good deal more fun if he had someone to spend the night with, but his boyfriend had made it perfectly clear that he was busy tonight. The third party he visited produced a very familiar and welcome face.

Mexico walked up to the boy, who was very noticeable because of the fact that he was not dressed up or wearing make-up. Instead, he was wearing a red t-shirt that fit very tightly against his lithe chest. He was also smoking and as Mexico walked closer it became quite clear from the smell of the smoke that the cigarette was marijuana not tobacco. The first remark came from the Mexican, "Holla, Enrique, shouldn't you be doing a couple lines right about now?" Colombia didn't look at all surprised by the statement, or the other's presence, for that matter. He responded coolly, looking up at Mexico, who had always been a couple inches taller than him, "I'm really trying to kick my coke habit, I'll have you know. Anyway, I wanted to be here tonight." Mexico raised his eyebrow, "And why would that be?"

The Mexican wasn't going to let himself think of what he would like to do to Colombia. Their history was already littered with a series of intimate encounters, which only gotten more complicated as time went on. The Colombian did look exceptionally good tonight, even though he looked out of place here. His hair was short and styled with gel so that it was smooth, but stuck up in the front. Like Mexico, he was wearing jewelry; a silver chain with a small cross was visible around his neck. Colombia was wearing a single diamond stud in one of his ears. Colombia laughed and leaned against the wall while he gestured at the crowd, "I love a good circus." Then, quite dramatically he turned back to Mexico, "And you are honestly the only person who makes this whole freak show look good." He paused and looked the other up and down before continuing to talk, "I mean, really good. You're the only person I can think of who can look even better painted as a dead person."

Mexico growled, he didn't appreciate someone insulting one of his favorite holidays, especially when that someone was Colombia. He leaned closer and said, "That doesn't explain why you're here." Colombia sighed and took another pull from the cigarette, "I wanted to see the great dictator of the Western Hemisphere in clown paint." Mexico gave Colombia a look that indicated the confusion he was feeling. The statement had either been completely nonsensical or very cryptic. Colombia clarified, "America. I wanted to see America wearing face paint. I figured he makes it look as ridiculous as you make it look good. So where is your boyfriend? Off somewhere eating?"

Mexico could hardly lie about this one, so he grudgingly said, "He said he was busy with Halloween, so he couldn't come spend the night with me." The statement and the realization of how stupid it sounded hit him all at once. America pulled this crap every year; he always said that he was busy with Halloween, despite the fact that his holiday was two days earlier. The fact of the matter was that America seemed to have no desire to join his boyfriend for the Day of the Dead. If the American wasn't going to be bothered to come here, then Mexico wasn't going to hold back just because America would want him to. It wasn't worth fighting his urges when Colombia looked good enough to eat. If America wasn't going to spare any of his precious time to be here, then Mexico was going to have his fun however and with whoever he wanted.

Colombia took another pull from the cigarette and said with mock pity, "Poor you, jilted on one of your favorite nights of the year." He moved to put his unoccupied hand on Mexico's painted cheek, but Mexico intercepted it, "You should know I don't like your hand on my cheek. Antonio always used to do that." The Mexican didn't release the wrist at once though. The aggressive move indicated a shift in Mexico's intentions, which Colombia picked up on. He smirked and said, "Where would you rather I put it then? Since you are alone tonight and looking so incredibly hot?" Colombia stood on his toes so he could lean forward and whisper in Mexico's ear, "You always look hot, but tonight you're making me feel like a fucking necrophiliac." Mexico was perfectly used to this tactic; it was one that Colombia always used. He liked to have face as close to Mexico's as possible without touching, he found it seductive. Mexico was inclined to let it work this time because he really wanted to have company tonight. He took Colombia's hand and moved it to his own hip.

Colombia smirked, "Why do I suddenly feel like I know how this is going to turn out?" Mexico decided he wanted to tease the boy just a little more. He let go of the wrist but left the hand where it was. He said in a playful tone, "Maybe you're high, Enrique. What are you smoking?" Colombia looked at the cigarette and said, "Well, everyone thinks I'm a druggy anyway, so I figured I might as well try the local flavor." Mexico already knew as much, this was simply playful banter. He responded, "Trafficking of marijuana is strictly prohibited. I'm going to have to confiscate that." Colombia looked thoroughly unimpressed, but he did see an opportunity, "If you want it, take it from me."

He took the cigarette, turned it around, and placed the burning end carefully in his mouth. Mexico understood and appreciated the audacity in the flirtation. Mexico leaned forward and took the now exposed end of the cigarette between his lips. This meant that their lips brushed against each other as the cigarette was transferred, which was exactly what Colombia wanted. It was almost a kiss, but Mexico pulled away too quickly for it to be real. When he pulled away, Mexico took the cigarette and took a pull from it. Mexico said, "You have good taste, this is exceptionally good quality. You have always had such good taste." The last words were delivered in a tone that indicated that he was no longer talking about drugs.

Mexico then immediately threw the cigarette on the ground and crushed what remained of it under his shoe. He then turned back to Colombia and said, "So how about it? Should I give you something else to taste?" Colombia looked directly into Mexico's eyes and nodded. The taller of the two leaned in and finally joined their lips in a slow, seductive kiss. Mexico used his lips to urge the other's open. Slowly, their tongues entwined. Colombia's tasted quite a lot like what he had just been smoking. It was a taste that Mexico was much inclined to like; it was, in short, intoxicating. Mexico made the kiss as long as possible, allowing Colombia's hands to roam over his chest. When he finally pulled away to breathe, Mexico's face broke into a smile.

The white paint on his lips had rubbed off onto Colombia's. It looked exceptionally funny because it was the exact reverse of a woman who smeared her lipstick when they kissed someone. He put his hand on Colombia's face and ran his finger over the white smudges on the other's lips, "You've got a little something white just there." Colombia smirked, "That's not unusual when I'm around you." Colombia licked his lips and attempted to be very seductive while doing it. It worked to some extent. Mexico leaned in again and resumed kissing Colombia. This time, the other pulled himself against Mexico and shifted his weight so that their hips were pressed against each other. Mexico buried his hand in Colombia's hair and used it to keep control of the boy's head. It was a way of showing that he was dominant, no matter what Colombia tried to do.

Mexico pulled away one more time, feeling absolutely and utterly turned on now. It might be because of the weed, but he doubted it. More likely, it was the fact that Colombia was using his tongue in some very interesting ways. Mexico said, now giving up all pretenses, "How about you and your very talented mouth help me forget that I even know Alfred exists?" Colombia didn't need to say anything, but his eyes made it quite clear that he was getting exactly what he wanted. He started to kiss Mexico's neck aggressively. Mexico groaned, "Si, that's exactly it." He used his hand on Colombia's head to direct the man lower and lower. Colombia moved from the neck to the collar bone and eventually he had to unbutton the shirt to kiss Mexico's chest. Mexico continued to speak in something that was beginning to sound like a hoarse whisper, "You can go all the way down, babe, but not right here."

Mexico was well aware of the fact that once he started using nicknames, there was no going back. He had committed to this, even though it was exactly what he swore to America he would never do again. Colombia disengaged his mouth to say, "Take me back to your place and show me how the dead do it." Mexico teasingly replied, "Do what, Enrique?" Colombia deliberately shifted his hips against Mexico. The friction caused a little moan to escape Mexico's throat. The shorter of the two looked back up and said,"I think you know exactly what." Mexico smirked and quickly forced their lips back together.

* * *

Colombia strode into the drawing room and immediately threw himself down on the couch, which was made of black leather. Mexico followed behind him slowly, carefully watching the way the other moved. The boy's hips moved with a rhythm that suggested he was dancing to something with a very steady beat. It was a welcome change from America, who couldn't be graceful to save his life. Colombia intentionally spread his limbs out as far as he could, throwing one of his legs over the back of the couch. The position was intentionally provocative.

Mexico walked over to the couch put his hand on Colombia's foot and slowly leaned closer as he moved his hand down Colombia's leg, which was covered in a pair of skinny jeans. Colombia arched into it. In essence, he was submitting completely. All of his body signals were showing that Colombia was perfectly willing to let Mexico have his way. Mexico planted his knee firmly between Colombia's legs as he leaned the rest of the way in and joined their lips again. At this point, Colombia had white paint all around his lips as well as little lines down his face where Mexico's fingers had touched his face. Mexico broke the kiss and said in a whisper, "I'll be right back; I'm going to go wash off my clown make-up. Hold that position though, I like your legs right." He moved his hand from the other's leg to between his legs and added as he squeezed the bulge, "here."

Colombia moaned loudly in encouragement but as soon as Mexico started to pull away. He grabbed the Mexican's wrist and said, "Don't do that. I like your face paint just how it is. It looks..." He reached up and brushed back a stray piece of Mexico's hair, "exotic..." He ran his hand farther down Mexico's neck, "spooky…" He ended on the collar of Mexico's jacket, "And so incredibly sexy." Mexico vaguely what kind of state his face paint was in, since so much of it was on Colombia's face, but he decided that if Colombia liked this, he would keep the paint on. He smirked, "Alright, if that's what you want. Lift your arms." Colombia complied and Mexico was able to pull off the shorter man's shirt.

He ran his hands over the smooth exposed flesh. Mexico was not going to use his mouth as much as Colombia did. Doing so would make them seem to be the same stature. He started teasing Colombia's nipples with his hands, tracing little circles around them before actually making contact. Colombia was very vocal, moaning loudly when Mexico finally touched his nipple.

Mexico leaned closer and said, "Shouldn't we be doing this on the bed? The couch is a little limiting." Colombia responded in a breathy voice, "No, we would get your black paint all over your pretty white sheets." He reached up and started to undo the rest of the buttons of Mexico's shirt. Mexico allowed the other to work on the shirt. Colombia kissed the Mexican's chest, working his way slowly lower. Mexico stopped him when he reached the stomach. Mexico still had a hold on the Colombian's dark hair and used it to pull the man's head back. Colombia looked up at Mexico but didn't say anything. Mexico, none too gently, unbuttoned and pulled off Colombia's pants, which left him in just his underwear.

Colombia finally spoke again, "Are you planning on getting undressed, mi amor?" Mexico continued to smirk, he leaned down and kissed Colombia's neck aggressively, which caused Colombia to moan and arch. Mexico spoke over the sound, "You don't seem to get it, Enrique. You are my toy for the night and I am going to do whatever I want to you." Colombia smiled and wrapped his bare legs around Mexico, "Take me, then. That's what you want, isn't it? Stop teasing!" Mexico responded, "You're so impatient." With that, he leaned in and kissed the other man again, at the same time working on unbuttoning his own pants. Once he finally got his own pants off, Mexico disengaged the kiss and, as he ran one hand down Colombia's exposed leg, "Hold on, babe, this is going to be quite a ride."

* * *

Colombia woke the next morning completely naked on the couch, covered only by a blanket. He kept his eyes closed and attempted to feel around him in the limited space on the couch. As far as he could tell, he was alone. His heart dropped. He remembered the night before very well, it had been one of the few times he got exactly what he wanted. But he was now wondering if it had all been a dream. If it was, then it had been quite vivid.

Colombia's musings were shattered by Mexico's voice, "I can see that you're awake, Enrique." Colombia finally opened his eyes and looked around. Mexico was standing next to the couch, already fully dressed. The Colombian groaned, this was precisely what he should have expected. He spoke, "Good morning, Alejandro. What time is it?" Mexico didn't respond to the question and instead walked around the couch and placed a pile of clothing on top of the part of the couch that Colombia was not occupying, "There's your clothing. Get dressed quickly." The Colombian grabbed the t-shirt off the top of the pile and attempted to not feel put out. This was so incredibly typical of Mexico.

Colombia sat up and started to put on the rest of his clothing and attempted to make conversation again, "You seem like you're in a hurry. Any reason?" He actually desperately hoped that Mexico wasn't going to give him a reason. There was one thing in particular he did not want to hear and it was exactly what Mexico said next, "I don't want you here when my boyfriend shows up. Alfred called about half an hour ago, and he wants to apologize to me in person for not being here last night. Obviously, you shouldn't be here then."

Colombia reflexively hissed when Mexico said America's name. He didn't just hate the American because he was dating Mexico, it was mostly because of the audacity America had in his foreign policy. He was constantly looking down on Colombia and it was just completely frustrating. Colombia's temper flared at once, "Oh I see how it is. You could leave him." Mexico scoffed, "For you? I think not." The Colombian stood up, feeling his anger raging in his veins, "And why not? I would be far better with you than he is." He took a few steps forward so that he was closer to Mexico. The other reached out and put his hand on Colombia's shoulder, "Look, Enrique, don't get so full of yourself. You are good in bed, that's all. I love Alfred, and I would never leave him for a slut like you."

Colombia recoiled at once, offended by the insult. Mexico didn't seem to care at all. Colombia looked around the room, looking for anything to distract him from a gnawing agony materializing in his chest. He thought about something that Mexico had pointed out the night before, "Did you already wash all the paint off of my face?" Mexico was watching Colombia's movement very carefully, seeming to debate whether he should be rushing the other's leaving. However, he did respond, "Yes I did. You were really out of it." Colombia expected as much, since he had stopped using cocaine on a regular basis he had been sleeping very soundly.

The pain in the middle of his chest was getting worse now. Washing the paint off of his face could have been a nice intimate moment to leave the encounter on a positive note. But instead, Mexico had chosen to make this as cold and clinical as possible. At this point, Colombia just wanted to get out before the pain in his chest got worse. He quickly walked towards the door with Mexico simply watching his back. Right before he opened the door to leave, Colombia turned back to Mexico, still somewhat angry and somewhat in pain, and said, "You know something, Alejandro? You're worse than cocaine. It's always the high right before the crashing low. And for some reason, I'm still addicted to you."

The last of his courage failed him and he quickly walked out of the door before Mexico could say anything. On the other side of the door, Colombia stopped walking and leaned against the door and sighed. He would love to tell himself that this would be the last time he had a one-night stand with Mexico, but he was well aware that this was going to happen next time Colombia found the opportunity. That was the truth of their relationship and always had been. Colombia finally pushed off the door and walked away.

* * *

_A/N: I hope this was what you wanted, Teffy . To everyone else, I hope you enjoyed as well. Feel free to review because reviews equal love ^-^_


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